Operation Overkill
by Blok-Writer
Summary: Bond is forced to stop an arms runner from plunging the Caribbean into turmoil. A heady mix of action, sex and violence awaits Bond. Takes some aspects of the Bond books and films and hopefully mixes the two together. Let me know what you think, all const
1. Default Chapter

Operation Overkill  
  
A James Bond adventure.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
The island of St. Cyrina sat in the azure blue sea of the Caribbean, basking in the all  
year long sunshine. The isle was a picture paradise, lush forests of palm trees, miles   
of soft golden beaches and of course the warm waters surrounding the island. There was  
only problem with the isle of St. Cyrina was that it was in the throws of a bloody civil  
war.  
  
A problem except for one of the island's residents. Shaun Quinn sat and watched the busy  
streets as he drove by in his bullet proof limo. He was a stocky man, his dark brown hair  
greying all over. His coal black eyes sat above a hawkish nose, giving him a cruel and  
predatory look. His lips were pulled thinly across his teeth, even in repose.  
  
His thoughts were on the civil war as he was on his way to a meeting with St. Cyrina's   
president, General Augusto. It was strange that Augusto had asked to see him personally,  
normally they had only had contact in written corrospondents never face to face. Their   
conversations had always been about one thing. Arms.  
  
Shaun Quinn was an arms merchant, dealing under the import name of Patterson and Jewel. He  
was one of the top arms dealers in the world. He'd started off selling guns in Northern   
Ireland, where he'd grew up on the tough streets of Belfast. He'd buy second hand arms from  
corrupt British soliders, selling them to the I.R.A. and U.D.L.A. so they could kill each   
other and the soilders too.  
  
Moving on from there he joined up with some larger clients, selling and providing arms for   
the Argentinian forces in the Falklands War. Here some money was made, as was his taste for  
a warmer climate. Then in the mid-eighties came St. Cyrina.  
  
St. Cyrina had just had a military coup, and the new leader of the country, General Augusto,  
was screaming for guns. Using the countries main crop, poppy fields, to pay for arms and   
Quinn used this as calateral with his contacts in Europe. Russia was going through Glasnost,  
the market full of weapons for sale. These were sold on and Quinn became a serious mover and   
shaker in the arms world. That's when he moved to St. Cyrina, his best customer, and set up   
Patterson and Jewel Exports as a cover for his operation. With Russia and Eastern Europe falling  
apart the business was good, and thank God for Sadam Hussien, he thought with a smile.  
  
His thoughts were pulled back to the present as the car started to slow, pulling into the ornate   
gates of the Presidential Palace. The guards at the front gate saluted not stopping the car, all   
of them knowing who the car belonged to. Apart from being a close friend of the President, Shaun  
Quinn was the richest person on St. Cyrina.  
  
The car stopped in the main courtyard outside of the Palace. Quinn's bodyguard got out of the car first  
looking round the square. He was a big man. The dark loose fitting suit doing little to hide the swell  
of muscle the man's arms and chest. His blond hair and green eyes, swept the surrounding area before  
he opened Quinn's door. He nodded to his employer before allowing him to exit the vehical. Quinn   
got out the car, straightening his light cotton jacket. He pulled his bodyguard closer to him, whispering  
in his ear.  
  
' Keep your wits about you in here, Kryzov.'  
  
Kryzov Kiosova nodded curtly to his employer, a burly hand moving reassuringly to the Glock pistol under  
his armpit. His green eyes swept the courtyard in a casual motion but the KGB trained eyes didn't miss a   
single detail. Both men moved casually towards the main entrance of the Presidential Mansion, the guard   
at the door saluting both men sharply.  
  
' Why do you think he wants to see you?' asked Kryzov, his deep heavily accented voice bearly audable over  
their footsteps. Quinn didn't answer his man, he just stared ahead lost in his own private thoughts. He had  
wondering about that himself, several different ideas had been played out in his head. Not all of them   
good.  
  
Quinn's thoughts were brought back to the present as Kryzov, gave him a nudge. They were outside the office  
of the President of St. Cyrina's office, General Emillo Augusto. The two guards outside the doors nodded their  
their heads to acknowledge Quinn, before letting only him into the room containing the General.  
  
General Emillo Augusto was sat at his desk, studying some papers intently. He looked up from his work when   
Quinn entered, his bearded face splitting into a wide grin. He got up from his desk, moving round the desk   
his arms open to embrace Quinn. ' Shaun, my friend good news.'  
  
Quinn briefly embraced Augusto before pulling away and taking a seat at the desk. He flicked open a wooden box  
on the desk, pulling a large cigar from it. He lit the cigar, filling the air with the fragrent smoke he exhaled.  
He watch as the General took his seat. The man looked well for his fifty-two years, not as fit as he used to be  
but still a quite trim figure in his military uniform.  
  
' So, Emillo. What's this good news?' asked Quinn in his soft Irish brogue.  
  
The grin on the General's face widened. ' The best kind of news, my friend.'  
  
' So enlighten me.' pushed Quinn, letting out another ploom of smoke.  
  
' I have some good news concerning the Junta.' said Augusto.  
  
The Junta were the rebels camped out in the mountains and forets of the Island. They had been fighting the General's  
forces for five years now, with various levels of success. Now it seemed that the General had made a breakthrough  
maybe even found the headquarters of the Junta leaders. It was what the General needed, and if the war was going  
to escalate then more weapons would be needed, Quinn thought with a smile. He realised he was sat on the very edge  
of his seat he forced some control and sat back in his seat.  
  
' So what is the good news.'  
  
' I have been contacted by the leaders of the Junta.' said Augusto. ' They have had enough. They wish to talk about   
a cease fire.'  
  
The words hit Quinn like a tidal wave. He knew what the implications were for him, he didn't want to lose, couldn't   
afford to lose the buisness which St. Cyrina supplied him. The money and the poppy fields he had access to. Although  
arms were still his main line of work, the drugs were fast being more profitable. If the war ended on the Island   
then he would lose control of the crops, and all the money that bought.  
  
Quinn realised that Augusto had just finished talking. He forced a smile and nodded, sucking life back into the cigar  
between his fingers. He realised that Augusto had just offered him a drink, to which he then shook hi head. ' I have  
a buisness engagment, my friend.' he made his excuses. He got to his feet, and left the room.  
  
Outside the room Kryzov saw the pensive look on his employers face. He didn't say anything until both men were down  
the corridor. The pace was fast and furious as they reached the limo parked in the courtyard. The big bodyguard opened  
the door for Quinn, stopping his employer.  
  
' Not good news?' he asked.  
  
Quinn gave him a mirthless smile. ' Let's just say I've had better days. Let's got back to the mansion we have plans to  
make.'  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
The two MI6 agents sat with their quarry in the airport as they waited for the third agent to return from  
from finalising the travel plans. In truth they were trainee agents, the babysitting mission a part of their  
learning curve. The third agent was more experienced, not a famed 00 agent, but one with many years experience  
none the less.  
  
The two young agents were Phillip Sanders and Jenny Page, both in their second year of training. They knew their  
mission was important, but babysitting was boring. So Phillip thought, escorting a second rate agent to MI6   
headquaters from here in Paris. Jenny, however was minding the mission one bit. After all the 'baby' was a  
handsome man, even if he was a Russian.  
  
Jenny herself was no slouch in the looks department. Her short red hair was bobbed, framing a doll like face.  
Green eyes dominated her face, above an upturned nose and full lips. Her black buinesslike suit did little   
to hide the flair of her breasts and hips, all business but all woman. At the moment her eyes and full attention  
were on the man next to her.  
  
The Russian was around six foot, his build broad but lean. The way he'd been handling himself from when they'd   
picked him up from Station F to the journey to the airport suggested that he possessed a whipcord strength. His  
dark, near black hair was brushed back from his face which held a certain non-descriptive handsomeness. His eyes  
were sharp, hiding a gleam that hinted at hidden knowledge and humour when he regarded the two agents. He   
wore a simple tan suit, well taliored and an open necked navy shirt. Each time he saw Jenny looking at him a   
slight smile touched the corners of his lips, causing Jenny to blush furiously. This in turn caused Phillip to   
glare at both the Russian and Jenny.  
  
Charles de Gaulle airport was busy despite it being the early hours of the morning. The lounge was home to the   
incoming, the outgoing and those waiting for both. Phillip was keeping a watchful eye on the crowds, all the   
time aware that Jenny was seemingly attracted to the Russian they were guarding. He sometimes wondered if women  
were suited for this kind of work, espoinage was a man's game. The tension drained from Phillip slightly when he  
saw Eric Galter, the third agent, arrive back with four tickets. At least he and Galter could handle any tricks  
the Russian may have up his sleeve.  
  
' And how is our Nikoli Schmitzski?' Galter asked as he handed out the tickets to the two agents.  
  
' All quiet,' answered Phillip glaring at the Russian.  
  
' I need the toliet,' the Russian stated in a heavily accented voice.  
  
' Get up then,' said Galter, grabbing the Russian agent's arm. Phillip started to stand but Galter waved him to stop.  
' No need, he won't give me any problems.'  
  
The two men left the trainees, heading into the toilet opposite. As they entered a big man brushed past them on   
his way out of the toliet. He had a vicious scar running down his right eye, and an unshaven appearance. The Russian  
examined the man as they passed him, expression one of careful study. Carrying on into the toilet, both men stopped   
and Galter locked the door behind them. Then facing the Russian agent, Galter gave a wide grin to the man.  
  
' You must really must of upset 'M' this time 007 to end up with this assignment.' Galter addressed the man.  
  
James Bond's face split into a grin of his own. ' Let's just say I'm here to learn a little humility, Eric.' he said.  
  
' Yes but babysitting..'  
  
' Training.' interrupted Bond.  
  
'..two youngsters.' finished Galter, ignoring Bond's attempt at saving face.  
  
' Yes but that girl. What a younster she is.' said Bond, giving a sly mile.  
  
Galter put on a stern face. ' Think of the mission 007. 'M' would go mad if she knew about that.'  
  
Bond nodded looking at his watch. ' Yes. The mission.' he said as his words trailed off. ' Carlos Mendez.'   
  
Galter looked puzzled. ' What, James?'  
  
Bond paced towards the door. ' Carlos Mendez. The man we passed just. That was him.' he said.  
  
' So?'  
  
Bond looked at Galter, unlocking the door. ' Mendez was responcible for the Bask bombing campaign a few years ago  
which included the bombing of the British embassy in Bilbao.'  
  
Galter grabbed Bond's arm. ' Hold on, 007. We're on a mission you can't just run off. Let me call it in and Station  
F can send someone after him.'  
  
Bond considered this then gave a resigned nod. ' Your probably right.' he concided.  
  
With a lightning fast jab, Bond slammed a fist into Galter's jaw. The man was sent sprawling backwards across the   
room. Before he could react he was hit at the nape of the neck by Bond's forearm, sending him into unconsiousness.   
Bond pulled him into a cubicle and closing the door.  
  
' Sorry, Eric, but I'm thinking of the mission.'  
  
Bond straightened his tie in the mirror before heading to the door. He slipped out into the lounge of the airport,   
looking around to try and catch a glimpse of Mendez amoungst the crowds. Looking across the lounge he saw Mendez   
heading to a boarding gate, about to enter the corridor leading to the plane. In quick strides Bond made this way   
across the lounge in an attempt to head the terroist off.  
  
In their seats, Phillip and Jenny sat patiently waiting for Galter and Bond to return. Jenny cast an eye towards the   
toilets as Bond emerged on her own. Watching him as he made his way across the lounge she touched Phillip's arm.   
Phillip turned to look at Jenny, a puzzled expression on his face. Jenny indicated towards where Bond was making his  
way towards the boarding gate. A grim look came to Phillip's face as he reached inside his jacket.  
  
' What do we do?' Jenny asked in a hushed tone.  
  
Philip pulled out the gun he'd been given on leaving Station F. He pulled back the chamber of the BDM 9cPms automatic  
pistol, loading a bullet from the clip into the chamber. ' We do what the mission requires us to. We take him back to  
London one way or another.'  



	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
Bond moved gracefully towards the gate as Mendez stopped to get his boarding pass from his jacket. Bond knew  
he had to get to the terrorist before he boarded the plane. He steeled himself before making his move, hoping   
that the man in front of him was unarmed like Bond himself was. Playing the part of a captured agent meant   
that Bond did not have his usual ASP sidearm, or his usual arrey of gadjets from Q branch. This time he'd have   
to reley on his brain.  
  
Just as Bond closed to within distance of Mendez he felt something being jabbed into his right side, just below  
the ribs. He turned to see Phillip with a look of grin determination on his face. In the excitment of it all  
Bond had forgotten about the two young trainee agents. The object in his side was the gun that Station F had  
given the agent, loaded with low impact bullets like a miniture rubber bullet. Painful if they hit you but   
harmless at above a certain range. This close to Bond's side though, the bullet would rip his flesh and   
puncture his lung.  
  
' Let's go, Schmitzski.' hissed Phillip into Bond's ear.  
  
' Look, old boy, if you don't lower that gun a murderer of several British agents is going to escape.' said Bond  
in perfect english, his tone quiet and controlled.  
  
This took both Jenny and Phillip by suprise, but Phillip jabbed Bond in the ribs with the muzzle of the gun.   
' A likely story, Schmitzski. Get moving.'  
  
Bond looked at Phillip, holding eye-contact as he spoke. ' My name is not, Schmitzski. I'm a British agent. This  
whole operation is a training exercise.'  
  
Jenny touched Phillip's arm, causing him to braek eye-contact with Bond. ' What do you think?' she asked, her tone  
low but wavering slightly.  
  
' Phillip turned back from her to face Bond. ' I think he's trying to escape. If he's one of us where is agent   
Galter?'  
  
Jenny thought about this, her own eyes regarding Bond waiting for an answer. Bond's own eyes scanned the lounge  
looking for Mendez. He saw the man with boarding pass in his hand, nearly at the gate. He moved forwards slightly  
only to have the gun firmly jabbed again in his side, making him wince.  
  
' If your not, Schmitzski, who are you then?' asked Jenny.  
  
' Bond. James Bond.' came the cool reply.  
  
Jenny's eyes widened at this but Phillip smiled, then laughed out loud. Bond's eyes flicked back to Mendez who had  
turned to see the three of them standing there. Mendez' eyes moved down the widened, his eyes catching a glimpse  
of the gun in Phillip's hand. He dropped his bag, a hand diving into his jacket.  
  
' Look out!' Bond snapped diving to his left, his arm looping around Jenny's waist pulling her down with him.  
  
Phillip stood there as screams filled the air. He turned to see Mendez pull a Heckler and Koch USP from his jacket,  
aiming the pistol at him. He raised his own pistol as Mendez fired, not knowing the gun wouldn't kill the man   
in front of him. A shot roared through the lounge, taking Phillip just below the breast bone flipping him backwards.  
Before he hit the floor Phillip squeezed the trigger, before the gun slipped from his lifeless fingers. The bullet  
from the gun took Mendez just below the knee, hurting him but not seriously injuring the terrorist.  
  
Bond used the slight injury to grab Jenny and dive behind a pillar, only just making it before a couple of bullets  
slammed into the pillar, throwing up small clouds of dust. Jenny stood there held tight by Bond's arms, her eyes   
on the dead body of her fellow agent. Bond felt her trembling in his arms, knowing the woman was going into shock.  
He turned her round, looking deeply into her green eyes.  
  
' Look, I'm sorry about him but if you don't listen to me we could both end up the same way.' Bond said in his  
calm tone. He kept looking at Jenny making sure she understood his words. She kept eye-contact with Bond then  
she nodded her agreement. Bond reached under jacket, pulling out her pistol from it's holster.  
  
' You stay here.' Bond said, looking round the pillar.  
  
' Where are you going?' Jenny asked, touching Bond's arm.  
  
' To catch a killer.' answered Bond, diving from behind the pillar.  
  
Bond quickly scanned the lounge as he emerged from behind the pillar, his eyes falling on a crouching Mendez beside  
another pillar. Bond knew the gun in his hand was not fatal to to the terrorist but it might help him close in   
on the man. Bond fired two shots just above Mendez, causing the man to spin round behind the pillar and allowing   
Bond to move closer. Bond dived to the floor, knocking a bench over as two shots sounded one of them whistling  
over Bond's head.  
  
The sweat was causing the shirt to stick to Bond's back underneath his jacket. He loosened his tie, allowing him   
to breathe a little easier. A dozen plans were racing through Bond's mind, all being rejected just as quickly as   
he thought of them. He wished for just one real bullet or a little gadjet from Q. Shaking the thought from his  
head he kicked the bench away, sprinting from his postion towards the boarding gate. Bond almost felt the gun  
training on him, his heart pounding as he waited for the bullet to rip into him.  
  
Jenny watched as Bond was nearly at the boarding gate when Mendez rolled from behind his pillar and fired a   
single shot at Bond. Bond was just leaping the last few feet to the gate when the shot fired. For what seemed  
an eternity Jenny watched Bond's hand reach for the gate, then he hit the floor with a thud. Jenny watched   
Bond, waiting for him to move, but he lay there as lifeless as Phillip.  
  
Sobbing to herself Jenny wiped the tears from her face, taking a deep breath Jenny's eyes fell on the gun by  
Phillip's body. She steeled herself for a moment then, in a burst of speed, she raced over to Phillip's gun.  
As her fingers curled round the butt of the gun a foot slammed down on her hand, causing her to scream in pain.  
Looking up, Jenny found herself looking into the dark eyes of the terrorist Carlos Mendez.  
  
' You and your friends have caused me to change my plans. For that you die.' said Mendez, in his thickly accented  
voice.  
  
' I don't think so.' said a voice behind Mendez.  
  
Mendez turned quickly as Bond slammed a fist into his stomach, lifting the terrorist of the floor. Bond then grabbed  
the gun hand of Mendez, flipping the man over his hip. Slamming into the ground, Mendez loosened his grip on the   
gun, which slid across the floor. Catching his breath Mendez shot a leg up, catching Bond in the chest and sending  
the agent backwards.  
  
Mendez was on his feet in a flash, both men facing each other in fighting stances. Jenny watched both men as she   
rubbed her hand, both of them feinting and blocking each other. One move had a counter move, some punches contacted  
others missed the mark wildly but both of them returned to their crouches. Each man was waiting for the move that  
would give him the opening and the edge over the other one.  
  
In a blur of movement Mendez dived at Bond. Bond rolled with the impact, using the momentum of the fall to bring   
his legs underneath the terrorist and flipping him high into the air. Bond rolled on top of the man raining blows  
from both fists onto the man beneath him. Mendez reached around, his hand falling on the gun which Jenny had tried  
to get to. Bringing the gun up, Mendez slammed the butt into the side of Bond's head. Bond saw the movement but   
as he tried to twist away from the oncoming blow it caught him below the temple. Bond fell off the man below him,  
his head swimming with pain.  
  
As his eyes cleared, flashes of bright light filling his eyes, pain searing through his head, Bond saw the terrorist  
get to his feet and point the gun at him. Taking a deep breath, Bond lay there waiting for the bullet from the gun  
to hit him. The air was filled with the sound of gun fire, causing Bond to flinch. He saw Mendez fly forwards, hitting  
the floor next to him, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. Behind him stood Jenny, the smoking Heckler and  
Koch in her hands. Eric Galter came from behind Jenny, taking the gun out of her trembling hands, sirens and the shouts  
of police in the background.  
  
' There's going to be hell to pay over this , James.' said Galter, helping Bond to his feet.  
  
' I won't tell if you don't' joked Bond, testing himself for injuries.  
  
' What about him?' asked Jenny indicating to Mendez body.  
  
' Don't worry about him. he was just dying to make his flight.'  



	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
The sun shone down on the estate of Shaun Quinn, a large colonial house built onto the  
side of a hill overlooking the main port of St. Cyrina, Port de Cyrina. The morning sun  
was warming the verander, where Quinn was eating breakfast. He was enjoying a salad of   
mixed fruit when Kryzov came onto the verander and stood by Quinn. Quinn finished his  
salad before wiping his mouth and turning to Kryzov.  
  
' So what have your sources found out?' Quinn asked.  
  
' As far as I can find out, the President is right.' the big Russian answered. ' One of   
my contacts amoungst the Junta told me that the main leaders met and have indeed decided  
to meet the President and talk about a cease fire.'  
  
Quinn picked up his cup of coffee, taking a sip. ' My contacts in the President's office  
say he is under pressure from the U.N. to negotiate. He's been promised "aid" in the form  
of a big cash package and trade preferences. The man wants to become respectable.' the   
word coming out as a snort.  
  
Kryzov took a large bladed knife from his belt, picked up an apple he cut a slice off.  
' So what is the plan then. Do you want me to..' the last words trailed off as the big  
man ran across the front of his throat.  
  
Quinn smiled but he shook his head. ' Not yet my friend. I've spent a lot of time on the  
man and there's no guarantee that who ever replaces him will be any different. Unless..'  
  
Kryzov raised an eyebrow. ' Unless what?' he asked.  
  
A sly smile came to Quinn's lips, his eyes glinted dangerously. ' I have an idea. Do we   
still have that training camp in the Congo?'  
  
' We do, yes.'  
  
'Good. Find me, Alabez.'  
  
  
* * *  
  
Two days later the sun was shining on another part of the world. The sun over Cairo was warm  
the dry air of the desert hitting the cool air from the sea, the humid heat which could cause  
the sweat to run down even when you were at rest. The busy streets buzzed with the daily throng  
of people from the bazaar's moving through them.  
  
Kryzov sat in the cafe near the docks, a turkish coffee in his hand. He took a sip of the thick,  
sweet coffee then a sip of water from the glass next to it. The whole time he sat there his eyes  
were scanning the crowds for any sign of danger. While he waited Kryzov remembered the first time   
he'd come to Cairo.  
  
Having joined the Russian army at eighteen, Kryzov had risen quite quickly to the rank of lieutenant  
through a mixture of courage and pure sadism. He was then transfered to the interragation branch   
of the KGB, where he further learned more ways to inflict pain on people. One thing he learnt at   
the KGB was not only was he good at hurting his prisoners, he enjoyed it. Then he got the transfer  
he had wanted since learning of their existance. He was transfered to SMERSH.  
  
SMERSH furthered his training, he became a personal project of Rosa Klebb before she defected to  
SPECTRE. He served in the interrgation branch again until he was promoted to field agent. His first  
assignment was in Cairo where he was asked to kill a British diplomat, which he carried out with   
great aplomb. He again soon rose through the ranks getting bigger and bigger targets as his reputation  
grew.  
  
His final assignment was during that weakling Gorbachov's Glasnost era. The Soviet Union was collapsing  
in on itself, becoming weak. Kryzov's target was an arms dealer taking advantage of the state of  
the Union to ship arms from corrupt generals. Tracking the man down to an island in the Caribbean  
he faced the man, Shaun Quinn. Quinn gave him a choice though, kill him and serve a dying country  
who would at best pension him off or let him live and join him and become rich. He liked the idea  
of being rich so he joined Quinn and had never looked back.  
  
' You seem distracted, Comrade.' said a voice next to Kryzov.  
  
Turning Kryzov saw a well built black man standing next to him. The man's face split into a wide  
grin as he slipped into the table opposite Kyrzov. Ordering a mint tea the man gave a look of mock   
disgust. 'I don't know how you can drink that coffee, Kryzov.' he said. ' You also must be slipping.  
I could have killed you by now.'  
  
Kryzov smiled. ' Maybe, Alabez. But look under the table.'  
  
Alabez looked under the table, only to see the vicious looking Glock pointing at him. He smiled to  
himself and saw a faint smile on Kryzov's face. He nodded his admiration of Kryzov's forethought but  
noticed the gun didn't move. Another nod and he slowly took out his own pistol out, a H & KP9sPMS  
11.43mm. Once the gun was on the table Kryzov picked it up, putting his own gun away.  
  
' Perhaps I can enjoy my mint tea now.' said Alabez picking up his cup.  
  
' So how are things since Castro kicked you out of Cuba?' asked Kryzov leaning back in his chair.  
  
Pulling a face, Alabez put down his cup. ' Well the man is a fool, making himself respectable he   
doesn't need 'operatives' like me anymore. I still get work but nothing beats a regular wage. Am I  
not right, my friend?'  
  
Nodding his head slowly, Kryzov leaned forwards. ' How about if I could offer you some work.'  
  
' Where and what is it?' asked Alabez.  
  
' At the moment it's a training job in the Congo. I will tell you more when you need to know.'  
  
Alabez smiled again. ' So there will be more than just this training?' he asked, only to be met with  
silence from the big Russian. ' Right. Need to know. And the money?'  
  
Kryzov took another sip of coffee before leaning back on his chair. ' The usual fee and then more  
once the operation is under way.'  
  
Shaking his head, Alabez leaned forwards. ' But the Congo is so humid and the danger..'  
  
Alabez words trailed off as Kryzov pulled back the hammer of the pistol in his hand, aiming it at  
the big man opposite him. ' The usual fee and more once the actual operation is underway. Non  
negotiable.'  
  
Rasing his hands, Alabez leaned back smiling. ' Of course my friend. So what do I need for my trip?'  
  
' Get as many mercenaries as you know to meet you here,' said Kryzov handing Alabez a piece of paper.  
He unloaded the magazine from the gun, putting the pistol on the table. ' I will meet you there in a  
week and we will start training.'  
  
Taking the paper from Kryzov's hand, Alabez finished his mint tea. He stood and taking the pistol from  
the table turned away from the Big Russian. ' I will see you in a week.'  
  
Across from the two men British agent Marcus Lloyd sat observing the two men. He'd been ordered by the  
Cairo Station to watch Alabez ever since he'd flown in from Cuba. Now he was meeting this big blond man  
and Lloyd was sure it was not just for coffee, the gun being waved around confirmed that. He would report   
back to the Station then follow Alabez, see what more he could find out.  
  
Getting from the table Kryzov dialled a number on his mobile phone. On the other end Quinn's voice answered.  
' Sir, Operation Overkill is underway.' he said simply before hanging up. As he started away he saw a   
man from a table across the street get up and follow Alabez through the busy streets of Cairo. A cold,  
killers grin came to Kryzov's face. Maybe this trip would be interesting after all. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
For a couple of days now British SIS agent Marcus Lloyd had been following the known  
terroist Alabez around the streets of Cairo. He'd been through the bazaars, sat in   
cafes, restuarants and gambling in casinos. All the time he'd been following the   
man he'd decided one thing, something was in the air. Something big.  
  
The culmination of the last few days was Lloyd kneeling outside of Alabez's hotel  
door, the Junior Suite in the Sheraton Royal Gardens. He was working on the lock of  
the door, when the tell-tale click of the lock giving was heard. A slight smile and  
a silent thank you to government training was given by Lloyd, before he turned the   
handle and was in Alabez's suite.  
  
Walking around the rooftop suite, Lloyd looked out of the window at the view it gave  
of Giza and nearby Cairo. Tearing himself away, Lloyd forced his mind back onto his  
mission. Looking around the room the agent took a small audio bugging device out of  
his pocket. Placing the bug on the underside of a fruitbowl, he then placed another  
bug in the reciever of the phone. Happy with his work, Lloyd left the room heading  
down to the lobby.  
  
Having rented a room above the small shop nearby, Lloyd moved through the lobby on  
his way to set up the equipment to listen in on the Junior Suite and it's occupant.  
What Lloyd wasn't aware of was that he had been watched by a pair of much more   
experienced eyes for the last few days. Kryzov watched the SIS man make his way  
out of the hotel, folding the newspaper under his arm Kryzov followed Lloyd out into  
the humid streets.  
  
The big Russian had been following Lloyd, noting everywhere he'd been and knew now  
that he was heading for the room above a shop that the British agent had rented two  
days ago. It was obviously where the recording equipment was being set up, due to  
the fact that Lloyd must have been up to Alabez's room to place some bugs. Standard  
operating proceedure. Kryzov thought about warning Alabez about the bugs but he  
could pick up the recordings, after he'd eliminated the SIS agent.  
  
* * *  
  
Ceasar Alabez hadn't worked so hard in years, not since he first started working for  
Castro in Cuba. Having grown up on the hard streets of Havana, he'd learnt to survive  
in the early years after Castro had taken over. His father had fought against the  
revolution and had left a wife and baby behind. Alabez's mother became a prositiute but  
she soon degenerated, leaving the three year old Alabez to fend for himself. Becoming  
a very proficient thief, Alabez soon moved into working for the street gangs that   
roamed the underbelly of the city. His skills and above average intelligence soon  
led to him controlling the biggest gang in Havana.  
  
After a few close run-in's with the local police, Alabez was 'asked' to join Castro's  
elite army intelligence force. While in the force he had training from the KGB, where  
he learnt many ways to kill a man thus becoming a very effective assassin. He served  
on some the most sensitive missions for Castro, and the KGB. He was one of the best in  
the business until Castro decided he was respectable, with Cuba opening up and visits  
from people like the Pope. Alabez was no longer needed so he decided to leave Cuba and  
go freelance, rather than be 'retired'.  
  
Moving from job to job, mainly for South American drug dealers, Alabez had found his way  
to Europe. He did some assassination work during the Bosnian Crisis, before moving to  
Cairo. Here work was a little thin but now thanks to Kryzov he had more than enough work  
to be getting on with.  
  
During the last few days he'd contacted many old 'collegues' and mercenary camps in a bid  
to find the group he and Kryzov needed. Some had other commitments but he nearly had all  
the men needed but one. He was waiting for the man he needed to help him train the troops.  
He needed the best drill sergeant he knew, but what Alabez didn't know was how to find  
him.  
  
Walking through the streets of Giza, he soon arrived at the stairs of his hotel. He knew  
that perhaps the fact that he was staying at one of the best hotels in Cairo was a little  
may seem excessive but he needed the comforts he'd gotten used to. After a hard day on the   
streets of Cario he needed a long soak in the bath.  
  
After collecting his key card, Alabez went up to his room. Taking his jacket off he started  
to pull his shoulder holster off when a noise made Alabez turn, as he dropped to one knee he  
pulled a dagger from his belt. Standing by the window, his features blotted out from the   
afternoon sun, was a man in a tan suit and wide-brimmed panama hat. A cloud of smoke was  
exhaled by the man filled the room with sweet smelling smoke.  
  
The man noticed Alabez's stance and the dagger in his hand, letting out a low chuckle. ' So   
you haven't let yourself slip from your recent sabbatical, Cesar.' the man said in a low,  
husky voice, the accent British.  
  
Alabez got to his feet, putting the dagger back into the waist band of his trousers. Walking  
over to the drinks cabinet. He poured himself a tumbler of whisky, dropping a few cubes of  
ice into the glass. Taking a sip Alabez turned to the man who had not moved from his postion,  
causing the Cuban to squint slightly. ' I've been looking for you.' he said simply to the man.  
  
The tall man let out another chuckle. ' I know. I've had every urchin and beggar in Cairo telling  
me that. So what is so important that you send half of Cairo after me?'  
  
Slumping into a chair Alabez look coolly at the man, who still hadn't moved from his postion.  
' We have a training mission in the Congo with a follow up mission straight afterwards. The  
pay will be good the risk probably high. But then you always like it like that don't you,  
old friend?'  
  
The man dropped his cigarette butt on the floor, crushing it under his foot. Taking his  
hat off he sat in a chair which was postioned with it's back to the window, again keeping  
the man's features in shadow. ' And who is our employer?' the man asked, in his dry almost  
grating voice.  
  
Alabez took another sip of whisky before answering. ' Our employers are Patterson and Jewel.  
Have you heard of them?'  
  
The man let out a small snort. ' I may not be doing much work nowadays Alabez but I do keep in  
touch. I know of them, and how well they pay. Okay I will join you. Where do we meet?'  
  
' You leave your contact details and I will be in touch.'  
  
The man nodded his approval, picking up his hat and placing it on his head. Getting to his feet  
the man walked past Alabez, the Cuban regarded him coolly. He knew the man's reputation and knew   
that he'd been thought to be dead on more than one occasion, but always seemed to resurface.  
He was a well built man, who moved with an easy grace. His blond hair was short, his face   
cruel and dominated by ice blue eyes. His face had a small scar on the chin which led to a   
cravat around his throat. He looked Alabez in the eye, giving him a curt nod before handing him  
a card.  
  
' Goodbye, Cesar Alabez.' he croaked.  
  
' Goodbye, Donovan Grant.'  



	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
  
Taking notes furiously, Lloyd made sure he would check out the two names he'd heard. The  
first must be an organisation or company but he'd never heard of Patterson and Jewel. A   
few enquires back at the Cairo Station should sort that out. Stopping the computer program  
from recording the room, Lloyd started to download the conversation from the hard drive  
to a cd disc.  
  
He put the name Patterson and Jewel on a scrap of paper, tucking it in his shirt pocket. He   
startedthe program up again with a new blank cd to keep recording the hotel room down the   
street. He put the newly recorded cd in his jacket when his mobile phone rang, causing Lloyd   
to jump. He smiled at his own foolishness before answering the phone.  
  
' Hello?'  
  
' Marcus?' came a female voice on the other end of the phone.  
  
' Julia?' asked Lloyd.  
  
' Hey just a quick call to let you know I'll be in Cairo in two days.'  
  
Lloyd's mind raced at this. The timing was wrong, he was so embroilled in this case he couldn't  
let it just drop. He was too close to find an opening and couldn't wait for a few days before  
following it up. ' Erm.. look Julia, this really isn't a good ti..' he started.  
  
A laugh on the other end of the phone stopped him in mid sentance. ' Too late, Marcus. You  
don't have a choice, I'll be there in two days.' The line then went dead.  
  
Damn, Lloyd thought, this would ruin everything. He knew, however, he needed to get this  
information to Cairo Station. He grabbed his jacket and headed to the door of his rented  
room. The name on his mind was not Patterson and Jewel though, it was Donovan Grant that  
ran foremost in his thoughts.  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
' Mr. Grant?' asked a voice behind Grant.  
  
Donovan 'Red' Grant turned and looked at the man addressing him. He recognised him as  
Kryzov, Klebb had mention him when Grant had worked with her years ago. Thinking of the past  
his hand moved to his cravat covered throat, Grant feeling an old hatred swell in his  
chest. Forcing it down he held Kryzov's gaze. ' Yes, Kryzov.'  
  
Kryzov gave Grant a little bow, impressed that he knew whom he was addressing. ' I was  
wondering if I could interest you in a little work.'  
  
Grant solemnly shook his head. ' I'm in no need of a job.'  
  
Kryzov handed Grant a Patterson and Jewel card with his name on. Grant looked at the card  
giving a cold smile. ' I'm already onboard, Kryzov. You don't have to recruit me.'  
  
Kryzov put an arm round Grant's shoulder and smiled back at the man next to him. ' Consider  
this a little pleasure job before the off Mr. Grant.'  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
Lloyd flopped onto the bed in his apartment. He'd stopped off to get washed and changed before  
he went to the Cairo Station. He pulled the towel off his waist, slipping into a pair of light  
cotton slacks and a light blue cotton shirt. He ran a comb quickly through his hair, before   
making his way to the front door of the apartment where his jacket with the cd was lying on a  
chair. Picking up his jacket he opened the front door, only to faced with Kyrzov standing there.  
  
' Good afternoon, Mr. Lloyd. I've come for the disc.' said Kryzov.  
  
Lloyd took a step back from Kryzov, allowing the big Russian to take a step into the apartment.  
Grabbing the door with both hands, Lloyd slammed it into the oncoming man sending Kryzov reeling   
backwards onto the landing. Lloyd leapt over the floored Russian, making his way down the apartment  
steps to the streets below. As the SIS agent got the doorway Kryzov's Glock fired, hitting the door  
frame just above Lloyd's hand. With a leap, Lloyd was out of the apartment lobby and into the   
streets of Cairo.  
  
Not looking back, Lloyd knew he had to get to the Cairo Station to save his life. His heart was  
pounding against his chest, his breath coming in sharp ragged breaths. He forced his way through  
the crowded streets, hoping the crowds would guard him against the gunman who was pursuing him.  
Hopefully he could not be shot if he was amoungst the crowds.  
  
A loud commotion behind Lloyd made him look over his shoulder, where he saw Kryzov moving   
swiftly through the crowds. The big Russian was obviously fit and was closing in on the SIS   
agent quickly. Looking ahead again Lloyd saw a set of stone steps leading up to a flat roofed  
building on his left. Running across the street the British agent bounded up the steps to the  
top of the building. Looking around he saw the flat roof led to every other home in the street  
and the streets separated all the houses in this part of the city. Another bullet ricocheted  
at Lloyd's feet as he saw Kryzov making his way across the street. Once again the SIS agent   
started off running, this time across the rooftops.  
  
The chase was on across the rooftops of Cairo, the agent trying to stay ahead of his pursuer.  
Kryzov chased the man across the rooftops, his better conditioning showing as he started to pull in  
the lead the man ahead of him had. Lloyd knew he was coming to the end of the building and made  
a quick decision. He span off to the left and leapt off the building, just making it across the   
small alleyway between the buildings. Kryzov smiled at Lloyd's courage and made the same leap,  
clearing the gap with ease.  
  
Feeling his legs getting heavier, Lloyd knew he would have to try and outhink the man behind  
him as he could not outrun him. He saw another small alleyway across the rooftop and stopped at   
the edge of the roof. He bent over, hands on his knees gasping lungfuls of air into his pained  
chest. He watched as Kryzov stopped running, walking over to where the SIS agent stood. Taking  
out his gun, Kryzov pointed the Glock at the British agent.  
  
' Give me the cd you made, Mr. Lloyd.' said Kryzov, his faced covered with a fine sheen of sweat.  
  
Lloyd looked the big Russian in the eye. ' I take it you found the equipment I was using.' he   
panted.  
  
Kryzov nodded, holding out his hand. ' I have destroyed all the evidence Mr. Lloyd. All that  
remains is the disc.'  
  
'And me.' said Lloyd, completing Kyrzov's sentance.  
  
Kryzov smiled and raised the Glock pistol, ponting it at Lloyd's chest. Before the Russian   
fired Lloyd fell backwards, twisting in the air. He landed on his back on a canvas roof, the  
material ripping as the man hit it. The impact slowed the SIS man down and the final fall of   
ten feet or so jarred the man, but didn't injure him as he hit the dusty street. Getting to his   
feet Lloyd looked up at the twenty five feet to the roof where Kryzov was. a quick wave to the  
Russian and Lloyd made his way towards the main street.  
  
Kryzov put his gun away and with a smile made his way to the stairs on the other side of the   
rooftop. Lloyd saw the Russian disappear and let himself smile at his plan. He wasn't sure it  
would work but now he had the chance to loose himself int he streets of Cairo before the  
man chasing him could get down and round to where Lloyd was. Turning again, Lloyd was nearly in  
the main street. When a fist lashed out, slamming into Lloyd's face sending him crashing to the   
floor.  
  
Tasting the blood in the mouth, Lloyd shook his head to clear it his eyes falling on Grant in front  
of him. Before Lloyd could react Grant lashed a boot into the man's side, lifting him off the ground.  
This sent Lloyd rolling down the alley way, pain racking the British agent's body. A knee slammed   
into the arch of Lloyd's back followed swiftly with another to the ribs, a wet crack was audiable.  
A pained cry leapt to Lloyd's lips, more blood welling in his mouth.  
  
Circling the prone agent, Grant smiled coldly at the man in the dust. He lashed another boot into  
the damaged side of Lloyd, blood showing through the side of the cotton shirt which Lloyd was   
wearing. Reaching into his jacket, Grant pulled out a vicious looking garrote. Slamming his knee  
into Lloyd's back, pinning Lloyd to the floor, Grant put the garrote around the SIS agent's throat  
and started to apply the pressure.  
  
Lloyd's fingers clawed at the wire around his throat as the wire cut into the soft flesh. Blood   
started to flow from the wound, Lloyd making sharp gargling noises. Sweat poured down Grant's   
face as he applied more and more pressure on the garrote, his knee buried deep into the base   
of Lloyd's back. Just as Lloyd started to pass out Grant gave one big pull, slamming his knee  
back into the base of the back. A loud snap was heard and Grant let go of the garrote, Lloyd's  
head lolling lifelessly to the side, his neck broken. Dipping into Lloyd's pocket Grant took  
out the cd and handed it to Kryzov, who entered the alleyway just as Lloyd had died.  
  
' He put up a good fight,' said Kryzov putting the disc in his own pocket.  
  
' Not good enough though.' replied Grant, wiping the garrote on Lloyd's shirt before slipping it back  
on his pocket.  
  
Regarding the body Kryzov bent down, lifting the head of the dead man up and looking at the wounds  
which Grant had inflicted. ' Not bad. Have you done this before on a British agent?' he asked the big   
blond man.  
  
' Once before.' said Grant, his hand rubbing his cravat covered throat as he left the alley.  



	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7  
  
May had woken Bond about eight-thirty, telling him Mr. Tanner had called and can he call him   
back. Bond mumbled an answer and when May left the room he climbed out of bed. Following his   
usual slow twenty pushups and leg lifts, Bond climbed into a cold shower to rid his body of   
sleep and sweat. A hot shower followed this, making Bond feel more awake now. Dressing in a   
dark blue suit and a crisp white shirt, that May had lain out for him. Making his way into  
the kitchen Bond saw May putting out his breakfast.  
  
When in London, Bond was a creature of habit when it came to his personal life. The way his   
life was and the dangers of the job he was in made Bond appriciate a bit of routine in his life.  
As long as it wasn't too much routine. Boredom was as dangerous as an assassin to a man in  
Bond's line of work.  
  
Bond tucked into his breakfast which consisted of a single hard-boiled egg, followed by two   
pieces of wholemeal toast with some preserves. All this was washed down with the special blend  
of coffee that Bond ordered from De Bry in Oxford Street, black with no sugar. This meal had been  
the cornerstone of Bond's days in London. The egg was always done to perfection, the preserves  
were brought in specially for him. Even the egg was brought from a little farm in the country,  
May's friend owned a farm which Bond had threatened buy for years now. Despite the platitude   
of it, to Bond breakfast was the most important meal of the day.  
  
After breakfast Bond picked up his paper and he started to read the news. As May cleared the  
dishes from breakfast she held Bond in a cool gaze. From over the top of the paper, Bond saw  
May looking at him. Steeling himself for whatever came next Bond put down the paper, turning   
to his little housekeeper.  
  
' So what's the problem, May?' he asked.  
  
' Well I don't like to tell you your buisness, Mr James,' May said in her soft, Scottish voice.  
  
' But?' interuptted Bond, hiding his smirk with his coffee cup.  
  
' But Mr Tanner did ring nearly an hour ago.'  
  
Bond grinned briefly, putting his cup down. Getting up from the table he went over to the phone,  
dialling the number for his office. A female voice answered the phone, a light bouncy voice to   
suit the woman who owned it.  
  
' Transworld Consortium. Mr Bond's office.'  
  
' Good morning, Goodnight.'  
  
' James. All hell has broken loose here.' said Mary Goodnight. ' Bill Tanner is waiting for you   
to contact him.'  
  
Bond pulled on his suit jacket, straightning his tie. ' Contact Bill for me, Goodnight, not anyone  
else. Tell him I'll be in in an hour.'  
  
  
***  
  
Bond pulled away from outside his Chelsea flat in his pride and joy, his Mark II Continental Bentley.  
Driving the car through the streets of London Bond enjoyed the way men, and women, watched as he drove  
past them in his car. The engine hummed as Bond cruised along Oxford Street on his way to the new   
headquaters of MI6.  
  
Pulling into the private car park, Bond entered MI6 and made his way towards his office. Sat her desk   
outside the office Bond shared with 008 and 0011 was Mary Goodnight. She looked up from her desk and   
gave Bond a quick smile. ' Bill has asked you to meet him in his office, James.'  
  
Blowing Goodnight a quick kiss Bond was out of the door on his way to M's Chief of Staff's office when  
he saw Bill Tanner coming towards him. Tanner grabbed Bond's arm, steering him towards the lift at   
the end of the corridor. Both men stood in the lift as Tanner pressed the button for the floor on  
which M's office was located.  
  
' Sorry I'm late, Bill.' said Bond, breaking the silence between both men.  
  
' You can be a bastard sometimes, 007. Just because you percieve some wrong has been done to you, you  
make the rest of us suffer. Goodnight has take some flak over you, James.' hissed Tanner in reply.  
  
'I'll make it up to her,' Bond said, kerbing his rising anger. He knew he'd been put out because of his  
recent assignments, and he had been taking it out on others. The problem was that boredom that had crept  
into his life. That was why he'd gone after Mendez if truth be known but he'd never admit it, except to   
himself.  
  
' So what is all the fuss about?' Bond asked Tanner, changing the tone of the conversation.  
  
Tanner shrugged his shoulders. ' She's been playing this one pretty close to her chest. All I know is that  
Cairo Station has been in contact pretty much all night.'  
  
The lift doors opened and Tanner and Bond stepped out into the outer office of M, head of the British Secret  
Service. Sat at her desk as usual, the right hand of the former and present M was Miss Moneypenny. She pressed  
a button on her desk to open the two doors which led to M's office. Bond gave a slight smile to Moneypenny who  
waved him in, her look telling him that he would be wise to get into the office. With a nod of the head Bond   
entered the office after Tanner.  
  
Sat at the large wooden desk in the middle of the room was M. Her face looked up from a folder in her hands,   
the cool grey-green eyes regarded Bond coldly. She put the folder down on the desk, her hand picking up a   
glass tumbler probably containing her favourite tipple, bourbon, Bond mused to himself. M's attitude to Bond  
had undergone a few changes during the brief time she'd taken over from Sir Miles Messervy. It started out cool  
but after the Goldeneye and Elliot Carver affairs she'd gained a respect for the way Bond worked and the job  
he performed. This had changed last year when he was forced to kill Elecktra King in front of M. She knew it was  
necessary, but M's whole attitude towards Bond was different. He was held at arms length and given training assignments.  
Bond knew that she knew his feelings on this, and she was dealing with the deaths of Elecktra and her father  
in her own way, keeping him at arms length. Whatever this crisis was it must be big for M to have summoned  
Bond.  
  
' Drink, gentlemen?' M's cool voice interrupted Bond's thoughts. M came from behind her desk, walking over to the   
drinks tray. Tanner shook his head, mumbling something about the hour. Bond asked for a scotch, single malt,   
which was served 'on the rocks'. Taking her seat again M turned to Bond.  
  
' We have a little 'problem' in Cairo, Commander.'  
  
Bond raised his eyebrows at the use of his formal, military title. He took a sip from his drink before looking  
directly at M. ' What sort of 'problem'?' Bond asked.  
  
M threw the folder in front of her across the desk to Bond. ' At four o'clock, local time, the body was found of  
Station Cairo operative Marcus Lloyd, it was murder, gentlemen. He had been brutely beaten and left there. We have no  
suspects or clues. His apartment had been ransacked but again, no clues or suspects.'  
  
Bond creased his forehead, taking in all the information M was giving him, digesting it. He listened then interrupted  
with a question. ' What department was Lloyd assigned to?'  
  
' Surveillance.' answered M.  
  
' So what, James. You think it was tied into his job?' asked Tanner, leaning slightly forwards in his chair.  
  
' He may have seen someone or something he wasn't supposed to.' added Bond.  
  
M considered this before nodding her approval. ' Tanner set up a ticket to Cairo and all the necessary documantation.'  
Tanner got to his feet and left the office. Bond stayed in his seat, taking another sip from his scotch. M turned  
back to Bond. ' I'm sending you on this mission not because I want to, 007. Or because I have to.'  
  
Bond set his glass down. ' Then with all due respect why am I going, Ma'am?' Bond asked coldly.  
  
M looked Bond straight in the eye, Bond not sure if a slight smile played on her lips. ' Because, Commander Bond,  
your the best man for the job.'  
  
A sly smile came to Bond's lips, he got to his feet heading for the door. ' I'll be on my way in an hour.'  
  
M nodded her approval. ' Pick up your equipment from stores.'  
  
Bond opened the door of the inner office, the door which led to another door that wouldn't open unless the other  
door was closed. He stopped turning back to M. ' You said Lloyd was beaten. Is that what killed him?'  
  
M looked up at bond. ' No. It seemes he was strangled to death by what seems to be a garrote.'  
  



End file.
